


To Have And To Hold

by ismyvoodooworking (coloursflyaway)



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Emotional Porn, Fisting, Fluff and Smut, Just love and a bit of fisting inbetween, M/M, That's basically what it's about, They're just really really in love okay, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/ismyvoodooworking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this lovely prompt:</p><p>Richard needs to feel Aidan's slim fingers curled inside him; knuckles rubbing hard against his prostate.</p><p>Aidan needs to feel Richard's ass, stretched and clenching, around his narrow wrist.</p><p>+10 Dean strokes Richard's hair as comfort.<br/>+100 Dean slicks up Aidan's hand.<br/>+1000 Dean uses his mouth to keep Richard hard.</p><p>+INFINITY If Aidan and Richard need to take breaks because they're too overwhelmed with the sensations and each other to want to rush this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Have And To Hold

**Author's Note:**

> For this lovely prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?thread=11350227#t11350227
> 
> I might just have gotten a bit carried away with it. Whoops.

 

 

 

It's never been a secret what it is Richard and Aidan are doing after the shoots, what is the reason that neither of them has time to come out to drink and celebrate with the rest of the group. And it couldn't really be that, even if they were trying to hide (which they most certainly aren't, all touches and kisses and little smiles in the other's direction) because what starts as one or two nights a week becomes every night, becomes every lunch break, becomes every second they aren't shooting.

At first, Dean, along with everyone else, thinks it's just fucking.  
It would make sense, because with having to get up at 4 am and filming for hours upon hours, there is hardly any time to go out and meet someone; so why not help a friend- because that's what they all are, friends- and let that friend help you in return?  
And maybe it's how it starts for them too, but as time passes, it becomes clear that there's more than just sex (Dean never says a word to anyone, but he thinks that it surprises Richard and Aidan just as much as everyone around them) because along with moans and gasps, and sometimes, screams, coming from their trailers, it's also laughter, it's also silence, one of the kind that Dean is sure is comfortable as they lie next to each other, with tangled legs and exploring fingers.

It's nice to see something so tender blossoming between exhaustion and long nights, which leave all of them sore and grumbling, and after some time they all get used to Richard letting Aidan have the first sip of water after a scene which took especially long to shoot and Aidan staying behind, waiting for Richard although he is so tired that he can hardly keep himself on his feet.  
But getting used to it doesn't mean to stop thinking about it, at least not in Dean's case. In contrary, the more his co-stars fall in love, the more often he finds himself thinking of Aidan arching off the bed, long limbs moving to wrap themselves around Richard, pulling him  closer, about the muscles on Richard's back flexing under his pale skin as he drives into his lover again and again.  
He should feel bad for it, and sometimes, he does, after he spilled himself in his hand, but most of the time he just lies there, too tired to do more than wipe his come into the sheets, both in love with their love and terribly jealous of it.

Which maybe is why he blushes slightly when Aidan walks up to him one day, smiling in a way Dean has never seen him do before.  
"You've been watching us", Aidan says after a few moments, not a question but a fact, and although Dean thinks he should be horrified, there is a spark in the other's eyes which makes it impossible to.  
He doesn't answer, though, mostly because he's not sure what Aidan wants to hear and because _he_ wants to hear what the other wants to say.  
"More than the others, I mean."  
It's true, Dean doesn't deny it, and Aidan seems to like that, at least judging by his smile. "Richard and I could use some help…with _something_. And I thought maybe you'd like to do just that."

 

And that is why Dean is standing outside of Aidan's trailer now, hard in his pants already because he knows what is going to happen, Aidan has made sure of that in a lunch break which left Dean hungry and so aroused he had promptly fucked up the first three takes in the next scene they had filmed.

It takes some time until he manages to knock, his heart beating so much faster, he can’t help but wonder how he is supposed to live through this night without having a heart attack.  
It's Aidan who opens, with his hair in disarray, a fresh mark, still shining with saliva on the side of his neck as he smiles down at Dean. "Hi", the other says, and it feels strange, greeting him like they are about to have a cup of coffee together considering what Dean is here for, but at the same time it makes it a little easier, especially when Aidan reaches out and grabs his hand, pulls him inside. "I'm glad you didn't get cold feet the last second."  
And Dean is too, when he sees Richard sitting on the bed, shirt unbuttoned and watching them with a smile on his lips and hunger in his eyes.

Aidan lets go of his hand, walks over to his lover and suddenly Dean feels more as if he was intruding than as if he'd been invited, because Aidan cups Richard's cheek, kisses him tenderly, chastely, and in a voice so soft and quiet that Dean has problems making out the words, asks, "Excited?"  
Dean can't remember why he'd been so surprised to hear that it was going to be Richard on his hands and knees, because the other leans into Aidan's touch, brings one hand up to cover his lover's, the other to rest on Aidan's hip.

"Always", Richard replies, with a voice as soft as Aidan's, their lips surely brushing with each syllable. The word must hold more meaning than Dean can comprehend, because Aidan's face lights up with something that couldn't be described as anything else than love and he kisses Richard again, this time with more urgency, more passion. It's beautiful, beautiful enough to make Dean forget about feeling like he was intruding.  
They need this, he supposes, before they can allow anyone else in and doesn't even think about taking it away from them, just watches and feels himself falling more and more for both of them, for how much they seem to have fallen for each other.

They part after what seems like forever and still not long enough, both with red lips and hooded eyes, staying close for another moment before Aidan turns around to face Dean, the hint of a smile he is sure was not meant for him on his lips. Aidan beckons him over and Dean finds himself moving without a thought and all of a sudden he understands why Richard all but melted into the other's touch before, why it's Aidan in control in control here and neither of them.  
It's subtle, but looking at the other, with his pupils blown wide and his lips kissed swollen, Dean wants to let Aidan take him apart and put him together to his liking again. And when it affects him so much already, Dean can't imagine how it has to be for Richard, who is so obviously smitten with their co-star.

His feet only stop when he is standing close enough to be able to count the lashes framing Aidan's eyes and for a second, he wonders if Richard is jealous when Aidan brushes his lips over Dean's cheek.  
It's hardly even a touch and still his breath hitches, maybe because even if small, it's what makes this real, believable. Aidan traces two fingers over his jaw, as if he was searching for something and then pulls away, grants Dean another smile and then, as if an afterthought, a short peck to the lips which could be amicable as much as romantic.  
Something between both things, most likely.  
“I’ll be right back”, Aidan says almost against his lips, “I just need to fetch a few things.” And there are fingers on Dean’s chin, turning his head so that he can look over to Richard, who is still watching them.  
Dean would be embarrassed; he knows that, having to watch his lover (boyfriend? Partner? He doesn’t know what to call them, now that he thinks about it) kissing someone else, but Richard seems to be perfectly at ease, just like Aidan is, and it’s soothing somehow, especially when Aidan steps away and gives him the smallest, gentlest push into Richard’s direction.  
Dean does as the other wants him to and by now, he is positive that he’ll follow all of Aidan’s commands or suggestions or pleas, at least for tonight.

Richard just looks at him for a moment, either not caring about how his shirt is open and reveals a dozen or so marks which Aidan’s lips and teeth have surely left there or not even noticing. He should say, do something and yet Dean just stands there, eyes fixed on Richard’s face, on his neck  and shoulders and the other chuckles, a deep, dark sound which echoes in Dean’s head and makes him dizzy,  before Richard reaches out and pulls him closer, onto his lap.  
Lips meet his skin, part to allow Richard’s tongue to dart out between them, then sharp teeth, varying until Dean’s eyes have slipped shut, allowing him to just feel.  
When Richard pulls away, he has surely left at least one bruise blooming, if not five, and Dean shudders at the thought that everyone will see, and fuck, everyone will _know_.

“No need to be so nervous”, the other mutters against Dean’s neck and he almost feels the words more than he hears them, just like he only notices that Aidan has come back when Richard moves, cranes back his head to look at Aidan, who has threaded a hand into the other’s hair, bowing down to kiss him.  
Dean can’t help but watch how the sinews in Richard’s neck strain, how his jaw moves and he desperately wishes he had the courage to lean in and lick, kiss the pale skin, maybe leave a mark of his own in middle of the myriad of Aidan’s.  
It’s only now, that he isn’t distracted by the delicious suction on his neck that he notices how hard Richard already is, his cock pressed against Dean’s thigh and the realisation that the other looks forward to this as much as he does (although it is going to hurt, so, so much, Dean is sure of that) is enough to make him moan.  
It’s that moan which directs the other’s attention back to him and for a second, he almost regrets it, but Aidan looks at him, still keeping Richard’s head tilted back and his neck bared.  
“You’re right”, he says softly, although Dean hasn’t made a sound, “We should start…after all, there is still so much to do.”  
Almost, it sounds innocent, but even if so, Dean can still feel Richard tensing up in anticipation beneath him, his hips rolling upwards ever so slightly. It’s even more erotic than Aidan’s voice, than the look in his eyes or the way his hand is still in his lover’s hair, knowing that Richard wants this so much, and for a moment or two, Dean considers asking whose idea this whole thing was in the first place.

He wants to ask another ten thousand things, but none of them makes it past his lips, because it is hard to decide, and because most of them are too intimate or not intimate enough, so in the end, he settles for the one thing he really needs to know. “What do you want me to do?”  
They have talked about this, yes, right when Aidan slid up to him to make a proposition which was as impossible to refuse as scandalous, and yes, Dean still remembers every word of it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need Aidan to _say_ it, right now and right here, and give him permission.

Aidan doesn’t answer right away, just keeps his eyes on Dean as he brings a hand up to Richard’s neck, stroking the soft, pale skin Dean wants to lick so badly, and the other moans, a deep, soft sound, if possible, cranes his neck more to offer Aidan a better access.  
“Well… I need you to keep my love here happy. He’s good with taking a lot, but this is going to be more than he’s used to.”  
Dean expects Aidan to keep talking, wants him to, because the other has such a nice voice and the Irish accent making it so melodious, so pleasant, apparently gets stronger when he’s aroused, but Richard chuckles softly, not looking at Dean because he can’t, but talking to him nonetheless.  
“And what Aidan is forgetting to say is that he has been dying to find an excuse to lure you here for weeks now. Isn’t that right?”  
Aidan swats Richard on his shoulder lightly, playfully, and chuckles. “Richard, you can’t just give all my secrets away at once”, he scolds just as playfully, leans down to press his lips against his lover’s in a sweet, little kiss, which makes Dean’s insides ache in the best way. “I need to be at least a little bit mysterious."

Dean almost tells Aidan that he is more than just a little mysterious, because he’s hidden this side of himself for so many weeks now, but stops before the words can come out. The other has said that he is to keep Richard happy, but he's still so unsure if he even wants to intrude this intimacy, this love they have, because it feels wrong in ways he has never even knew could feel wrong.

Richard is muttering something against Aidan's lips he cannot quite understand (and he doubts that Aidan hears them either, the other probably can just feel his lover's lips moving against his own, conveying a message rather through touch than through sound), but whatever it is, it makes Aidan look at Dean with twinkling eyes and a soft smirk, tilting his head.  
"He's cute when he's shy, isn't he?", Aidan says, and Dean can almost feel the amusement hidden in those words as much as hear them. He blushes and yet can't decide if it's an invitation, or a command to stay just where he is; isn’t sure what he wants it to be, either.

But Richard makes that decision for him, large, strong hands pulling Dean forward and against him, until he can feel the heat of Richard's body against his own, the way the muscles flex underneath pale skin.  
Aidan's hands must have let go of the other's hair, because they are in Dean's now, tugging softly at the soft strands until Dean gives in and leans in, first only presses a kiss to the side of Richard's throat, just below his ear, then gets bolder and does what he has wanted to do for what feels like forever, licks a broad stripe up from the other's collar bone to his jawline. And Richard hums, still a deep, dark, but pleased sound, and Dean does it again, mouthing at the skin.

It’s addictive, being the one to make Richard moan, more so than Dean would have thought it could be, but he can feel the vibrations the sounds produce against his lips when he presses them against the other’s throat, sucks on the skin, bites it, and it makes him tingle all over.  
He would never have guesses Richard would be so vocal, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Aidan must be watching them, must be listening, and Dean likes the thought almost a little too much, he finds when he sucks Richard’s earlobe into his mouth and bites down gently, draws another hum from Richard who still has his hands splayed on Dean’s sides.  
The hands move, slide beneath his shirt and up his sides to tickle that one spot beneath Dean’s ribs which always makes him laugh (this time as well, against Richard’s skin), run down his chest and rest just above the hem of his pants. It doesn’t take more than a second until Richard’s fingers are undoing the button, sliding down the zipper and Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, his cheeks surely tinting red and redder, because this is not what is supposed to happen, not really, because he is here to please and not to be pleasured.  
“No need to be so nervous”, Aidan tries to soothe him with the exact same words his lover has used before and this time it works for some reason Dean cannot fathom, but instead of pulling away, he allows himself to lean into the touch. Richard’s fingers start moving again, sliding into his pants and grasping his cock through the fabric of his boxers, not quite stroking, but they don’t need to be to make Dean gasp.

His lips are moving uselessly against Richard’s throat now, and Dean does his best to collect himself, starts sucking again, placing open-mouthed kisses on the pale skin. He isn’t sure if he is allowed to mark the other, or if that is a privilege only Aidan has, but even so he finds himself hoping that when he pulls away, there will be at least a hint of a shadow of redness left behind.  
It goes on for a few more moments, maybe minutes, Richard’s fingers varying pressure and rubbing and moving in the best ways possible, Aidan’s hands still tangled in his hair and Dean’s lips on Richard’s neck, but then Aidan pushes his head back a little, not at all unkindly, a gentle pressure, but Dean follows it immediately nonetheless.  
The fingers around his cock are still moving and Dean groans softly, bucks into the touch.

“Could you maybe grab the lube?”, Aidan asks with a smile on his lips and in his eyes and trails his hand from the back of Dean’s head  down over to his shoulders, playfully tugging on a strand of hair or two along the way. “And there is a chair over there… somewhere, for your clothes.”  
Dean expects his cheeks to light up with a blush as red as the marks sprinkled across Richard’s chest, as red as Aidan’s swollen lips, because undressing around them on set is so different than doing it here, but nothing comes. Perhaps it’s the way the pair of them seems to be so at ease, so relaxed that somehow manages to calm him too.  
So he does as he is asked, feels Richard’s hands slip back to his own lap as he gets up (and oh, it’s hard not to whine at that, so, so hard) and gives them another few moments alone as he turns and takes off his clothes, throwing them into the general direction of the chair; searches and finds the small bottle, alongside with tissues and a water bottle, placed on a bedside table close to him.

If it was meant as an excuse for them to be able to concentrate on each other for another few moments, he doesn’t know, but when he looks at them the next time, it becomes clear that it has become just that. They are in almost the same position still, only that Richard has leant back even further, resting against Aidan’s chest and with his head turned far enough to have their lips connected even though they’re not kissing, just smiling at each other, Aidan’s fingers tracing paths between the marks on his lover’s chest .  
“C’mon, darling, need to get you undressed”, he mutters against Richard’s lips and Dean’s heart speeds up a little when the older man pulls back and sits up again, shrugging his shirt off  in the process. Aidan looks up to find Dean’s eyes, grins as he does the same, but while Richard is quick and efficient, pushing his pants off and folding them, doing the same to his boxers, Aidan is even faster and messy, clothes flying everywhere.  
It’s more like the Aidan he knows, smiling brightly and sometimes stumbling over his own feet in his enthusiasm, and Dean likes it. He likes it even better when, after finishing, Aidan reaches for him and pulls him onto the mattress, all grace and subtle dominance again.

Richard joins them after a few seconds, pressing up behind Dean, broad chest against his back and his cock sliding hard and hot against his arse, and for a few, mad  seconds, Dean wants to ask if they can abandon their plan, if he can be on his hands and knees with Richard behind him and Aidan in front. He doesn't and doesn’t regret it for a second, because the other two share a kiss over his shoulder, and then Richard pulls back, turning and lowering himself down on his hands and knees.

Somehow, Dean has expected the other to be embarrassed about how submissive the position is, but Richard seems completely at ease, even if his legs are spread, his arse raised high and it takes only a moment until Dean knows exactly why there is no hint of shame written across his face. Because Aidan is looking at him with enough adoration and love and lust in his eyes it would fill an entire room and then some; and there is no way anyone could feel insecure with that look focussed on them.  
Only a second later, Aidan’s hands join his eyes, travelling up Richard’s back, his lips leaving a trail of kisses as they follow the curve of the other’s spine.

“Ready?”, Aidan whispers and Dean is sure that Richard is smiling when he nods, pushes back against his lover;  Aidan smiles back and Dean shifts closer, awaiting instructions and instead gets a kiss.  
The other’s lips are soft and sweet, a clever tongue slipping into Dean’s mouth and finding his own, and just as Dean thinks that he could go on kissing Aidan forever, he pulls back, chuckling a little at the forlorn look on Dean’s face.  
It’s a sweet sound, not quite fitting to the situation, what they are going to do, but Dean likes it nonetheless.  
“Help me with the lube?”, Aidan asks and even Dean can hear how Richard groans softly, see how he spreads his legs just a fraction wider. There is no answer to give than a quick nod, nothing to do but grab the bottle as quickly as possible, pop the lid open with shaking hands; Aidan is watching him with amusement still prominent in his eyes, Richard is breathing heavier and Dean is sure that he will think of this evening for the rest of his life.

The liquid he pours on Aidan’s fingers is colourless and smells faintly like raspberries and Dean can’t help but smile, because this is exactly what he would have expected the other to pick, something so strangely innocent for something so far from it.  
He probably overdoes it, because by the time he is finished, Aidan’s long, elegant fingers are dripping with lube, staining the sheets below them, since he is sure that it will hurt, so the most he can do is to make sure that at least friction is nothing Richard will have to worry about.

Aidan doesn’t seem to mind, or rather, seems to appreciate it - maybe just the obvious sentiment behind it or maybe, because he is worried too - since he rewards Dean with another kiss, longer than the last, sweet and a little grateful. Dean tangles a hand in the other’s hair and Aidan melts a bit against him, nips at his lower lip in a way which could make Dean forget about everything in the world before pulling away.  
There is still a smile on Aidan’s face when he looks away and it’s one which belongs to Dean and to no one else, and that more than makes up for the loss of touch.

Richard’s breathing is still heavy and Dean is content to just listen for a bit while Aidan shifts to make his position a more comfortable one, eyes only focussing again when the other one bends down to trail his lips over the curve of Richard’s spine, from the dimples of his back up to his neck, his hand moving between his lover’s cheeks.  
There are words being whispered which Dean doesn’t understand, but feels like he shouldn’t, and just when he starts to hurt, because they’re beautiful together and he wants to be part of this too, Aidan turns his head, looks directly at him.  
“The first finger won’t be too bad”, Aidan says softly – and he must have pressed the tip inside of Richard, or at least teased his hole somehow because the other man gasps softly – but although it should sounds like a reminder that Dean is not supposed to do anything yet, it sounds like the contrary. And so Dean moves closer, his and Aidan’s gazes locked as he reaches out to follow the imaginary trail of the other’s fingertips.

Richard arches and it’s only then that Dean looks away (because Aidan’s pupils are blown wide, so wide that he couldn’t tell the colour his irises usually have if he didn’t know it by heart already and he feels as if he’s falling), eyes skimming over pale skin and flexing muscles until they reach Richard’s bent head, hanging down between strong arms. He reaches out before he knows it, puts a hand on the other’s shoulder and marvels at the contrast –his skin has always been fair, but Richard’s is glowing, gleaming, as if it was moonlight bouncing off his skin and not the faint glow of the lamp above them.  
Richard hums softly at the touch, turns his head and looks at Dean, and the hunger is still impossible to overlook in his blue, blue eyes and once again, it surprises him how so much passion and lust can be hidden inside a man this collected, this calm. For a fleeting moment, he thinks that maybe, he doesn’t know Richard at all, but then the other smiles with his eyes, his lips parting to let out a moan which is deeper than the last one but not less appreciatively, and Dean thinks that maybe, he just hasn't seen all of Richard before. Maybe he never will.  
For a moment, their eyes stay locked, until it becomes too much and Dean has to look away.

He turns, his fingers curling slightly into the flesh of Richard's shoulder as he watches Aidan's face, concentrated and with white teeth nibbling on his lower lip as he pulls his finger out of his lover's hole again, every movement slow and deliberate. They must have done this a hundred times, Dean knows that (and he has heard it too), but somehow this seems to be new to the Irishman as well.  
Perhaps that is what underlies all this, wanting to discover and get to know every single part of the other, not the lust or pleasure of it, and Dean likes that explanation even better, thinks it more fitting because Aidan waits for a moment, teases another moan from between Richard's lips before pushing in once more.

"I'm not made of glass, you know?", Richard says, fondness and a hint of amusement coating the words, dripping from his lips and when Dean meets his eyes again (shivering because the older man has been watching him the entire time), he finds that they have gone soft.  
For a moment, there are no more sounds except for the slide of Aidan’s finger, the wet, slick sound of skin against skin, but then Aidan speaks with a voice as soft as Richard's eyes. "Still don't want to break you."  
There are no looks, no twitches of muscles or other tell-tale signs, but Dean knows that, were they face to face, Richard would kiss the other now, press thin lips to fuller ones and say everything through touch instead of words.

They aren't and so there is just a pause, a pregnant but not uncomfortable one, before Aidan thrusts his finger deeper inside of his lover, and there is another moan, another smile on Richard's lips, making Dean wonder if they're always like this when they're together, playful and loving and ever so gentle.  
Richard's hips are rocking in synch with Aidan's thrusts and although there is no sign of pain yet - and oh, how used Richard needs to be to this to make it that way - Dean still lets his hand travel upwards, to the other's neck, brushing through the fine hair at the base of it. He has always imagined the dark strands to be soft, but they're almost silky between his fingers, and when Richard makes a sound next time, it's meant for him too, not only for Aidan, and makes Dean's heart swell and contract at the same time.  
He'd like to ask just what he should do, what it is that soothes the pain best - if it's kisses or bites, if it's touching skin or petting Richard's hair - but he doesn’t dare, instead lets the older actor’s reactions guide him.

His fingers keep carding through the other’s hair at a steady rhythm, matching the rolls of Richard’s hips, the thrusts of Aidan’s fingers, sometimes tugging softly to draw a soft gasp from between those kiss-swollen, thin lips. From where he is kneeling, Dean can’t see exactly what Aidan is doing, only the movements of his arm, the twists of his wrist every other time and it’s maddening as it is exciting; Dean’s mind working overtime.  
He holds out, though, scratching short nails across Richard’s scalp and making him moan and arch his back a little more, at least until Aidan looks up again, asking, “Another?”

It’s a question where at least Richard seems to think none is necessary, because he half-chuckles, half-moans and pushes back against the intrusion (and Dean can feel his cock twitch at that, making it hard not to wrap a hand around it).  
“I’m not exactly a virgin anymore”, the other answers and Aidan doesn’t reply, just swats Richard’s arse and smirks when his lover groans and arches his back.  
Dean almost chokes on his breath as he realises the implications.

And then there is a sound, a moan half filled with pain, half with pleasure and it’s the arch of Richard’s back which tells him that Aidan has started working a second finger inside of the other. The motion is still slow, devoid of any blazing lust, the Irishman’s hand and wrist and arm not moving for several seconds to let Richard adjust to the feeling; and suddenly Dean needs to _see_.  
It’s a sudden urge, catching him off guard but not entirely unexpected and there is nothing Dean can do but obey his body’s command.  
His hand leaves Richard’s hair with a last, gentle tug, wanders down to his shoulders and rubbing over bunched up muscles, easing a little of the tension before once again following the trail Aidan’s lips have taken before, over the curve of Richard’s spine to the small of his back, resting there while Dean follows, placing kisses on the pale skin as he shifts, sometimes nipping lightly, sometimes sucking.

The last kiss is placed just between the dimples above Richard’s arse, with Dean’s tongue darting out to taste the faint hint of salt before pulling away, not looking at Aidan, but at his fingers, which are plunging back into his lover. He couldn’t pull away if he wanted to, too transfixed on the way the other’s knuckles are stretching Richard’s hole, glistening with the lube Dean has poured on them, disappearing as if the body beneath him does not offer any resistance at all.  
It’s impossible to imagine four fingers doing the same, five, Aidan’s entire hand and yet Dean tries to while he stares, moans as the fingers stop, buried up to the knuckles inside of Richard, staying still for a moment before being drawn out once more and leaving the older man’s hole loose and gaping, as if trying to suck the fingers back inside again.  
Aidan must notice, but doesn’t say a word, not even when Dean somehow manages to tear his eyes away, his own cock aching. He’d like to say something, but Aidan thrusts his fingers back and makes Richard moan, leans forward at the same time and captures Dean’s lips in a kiss.

It’s an impulse and not a conscious decision when Dean reaches out this time, grasps the other’s wrist and groans into Aidan’s mouth because he is still fucking Richard, two slender fingers plunging in and out of the older actor and Dean can almost feel it. He desperately wants to add a finger of his own, or just, at least, rub over the stretched rim of Richard’s hole to feel it twitching, taking underneath him, but he doesn’t dare to.  
And for now, kissing Aidan is more than just a good-enough distraction, because the other is sucking on his tongue, the hand not used to stretch Richard further and further slowly making its way up Dean’s flank, scratching nails over the skin gently.  
“Isn’t he beautiful?”, Aidan mutters against his lips and Dean shivers because it’s unbearably intimate, and because he can feel the other’s wrist twisting, rubbing his fingers over Richard’s insides. He nods, although he isn’t sure if it’s a question which even needs an answer.

For a moment, Aidan stays close, then turns his head slightly and looks down on his hand, on Dean’s around it and presses his fingers a little deeper still.  
He must have hit that sweet, sweet spot inside Richard, since the older man’s toes curl and his back arches almost impossibly as Aidan continues to rub over his prostate. And there is a moan spilling from Richard’s lips, low and dark, his deep voice even deeper with arousal and for a moment, Dean thinks he is going to come without even a touch to his cock.  
Aidan looks up at him again and it is clear that his lover’s noises of pleasure are affecting him too, a breathless expression on his face, mixed with admiration, affection.  
“You should have seen him that first night”, Aidan says and Dean can see in his eyes that he is remembering it, that he’s seeing it in his mind and he would kill to know just what happened. “He just opened up for me…took four fingers without a problem….”

Dean still can’t imagine it, at least not like Aidan obviously can, but he tries and almost succeeds before Richard makes another sound, but this time not a moan, but words laced with arousal and need and the same tone which makes Dean so sure that Aidan is remembering the scene vividly right now.  
“Only because I fucked myself with a dildo that morning.”

The addition comes so naturally, as if this is the umpteenth time that Richard has added it to Aidan’s words, and it makes Dean wonder who else they have discussed it with (and if there is a stab of jealousy before he concludes that they most likely only talked about it between themselves, then Dean does not acknowledge it at all). And he expects Aidan to laugh at it, or maybe twist his fingers again so that any further corrections will die on Richard’s lips and will be replaced by moans, but instead Aidan smiles and leans down to press his lips on the other’s lower back.  
“While thinking about me”, he says and his lips are dripping love, his eyes sparkling with it, even intensifying when Richard hums in agreement, replies, “Always.”

Perhaps, it’s their way of saying _I love you_ , Dean doesn’t know, can only suspect, but while he could ask, he doesn’t want to, because there is another pause, a pause which usually would be filled with a kiss and interrupting it would be a crime. So he stays still and waits, waits until Aidan’s hand picks up its pace again, first keeping the thrusts shallow and most likely teasing, waiting until Richard moans again until he allows his fingers to slide deeper.  
Dean waits for another few, too-fast heartbeats to pass until he asks the one thing he has always wondered about. “That first time… was that…?”

There is no way he can put it into more exact, more accurate words so he doesn’t, instead runs a thumb over the back of Aidan’s hand, waits. They seem to be willing to talk about it, maybe always have been, yet there is still a slight pause which makes Dean’s racing heart speed up even more. But apparently he knows them well enough, because Aidan just smiles, doesn’t stop stretching Richard, alternating deep, long and short, shallow thrusts In a way which, quite obviously, takes his lover’s breath away.  
“When we got together?”, he asks and waits for Dean’s confirming nod, “Yes… No. I don’t know, it’s a little hard to say.“  
His eyes stray from Dean’s, but he doesn’t mind it, because they settle on Richard, and Richard looks back at Aidan over his shoulder, even though his eyes are unfocussed. “Because at first, it wasn’t this. It was just occasional hand jobs in the dressing rooms or rutting against each other. Not...this.”

Aidan doesn’t say _love_ , not once and Dean notices, but doesn’t understand. Because they are in love, it’s plain to see and they are at ease with another to an extent which makes it impossible to believe that they are not admitting their feelings. So maybe, he figures while he watches slender fingers move inside of Richard, maybe they just don’t care. Maybe being together is enough. 

“But maybe it was that day though, because it was the first time we kissed.”  
  
At first, Dean thinks he must have misheard, because there is no way this can be true, that they got each other off before kissing, but then again, it sounds like them a little, like Richard who is ever the professional and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise the production, like a hurried, passionate love affair with a colleague might; like Aidan who is sometimes too quick to think before he acts, but would do everything to keep the people he cares for from getting hurt.

“…and I knew that this was special”, Aidan ends and Dean wants to say something, anything, but Richard, with his impossibly deep voice, is faster.  
“It was.”

This time, Dean actually expects a kiss between them, no matter how unlikely in this position, but Aidan does something entirely different: Pulls his two fingers out of Richard only to thrust three back in again, drawing a deep, choked sound from his lover’s lips which almost sounds like Aidan’s name.  
It’s not a moan, not a scream, but something between the two things and it makes Dean feel as if he was drowning, his hand dropping from where it has been holding onto Aidan’s wrist as he leans in to press his lips on Richard’s back again, because while there is lust in the sound, as well as pleasure, there is pain as well. Pain which reminds Dean of why he is here in the first place – not to learn about something he has suspected all along, or share smiles and kisses with Aidan, but to help. To soothe.

He kisses his way up to the nape of Richard’s neck, doing his best to move his body as gracefully as Aidan would, but fails, gives up and just shifts and crawls until he is in front of Richard, looking down on a mass of dark hair, shoulders and arms straining with the effort to keep himself upright. His hips are still moving back against Aidan’s fingers, even if with less vigour than before, trying to make it easier or to get more; Dean cannot decide. It’s a more gorgeous sight than he would have ever thought, up until the point where Richard slowly lifts his head to look at him and all coherent thoughts leave his mind at all, because there are no words to describe the unfocussed look in Richard’s eyes, for the way his lips part with every breath or the flush which has settled high on his cheeks.

For a moment, Dean just stares, doesn’t know what else to do or even how to move, but then Aidan twists his fingers deeper or just differently, and Richard moans again, pain still prominent in his voice. A finger finds its way to Richard’s lips, traces the curved upper lip and this time, it is Dean who shudders.  
It might be on accident, or maybe the other is trying to tease, Dean wouldn’t put it past him, but in any way, Richard’s lips close around his fingers, his mouth wet and hot, his tongue pressing up to push against Dean’s knuckles. For a moment, his breath hitches, his movements still, because he could thrust his finger deeper, he just knows it (because Richard could take it and look so good while doing so, sucking and choking around two fingers, three) and the other would moan, would roll his hips to take Aidan’s fingers deeper as well as Dean’s.  
He doesn’t, though, instead pulls his hand back a little and watches his finger slip free, shining with saliva and leaving Richard’s lips wet as well.

For a moment, his eyes flutter shut, then back up to Aidan’s face instead of Richard’s. The other isn’t looking back but Dean can’t blame him, not when he can watch his lover’s hole twitching around his fingers, the arch or Richard’s back and the way the muscles in his thighs are flexing.  
There is something almost akin to awe mirrored in Aidan’s eyes, fighting for the upper hand with the ever-present adoration, the love and Dean has to look away because he can’t bear it, because it's too much.

There is a quiet intensity radiating from Aidan, a  certain sense of surety which makes his eyes water and heart ache because he has never seen it before, in no one else's eyes, not even in his own lovers' and he is sure that it was never in his, either, when looking at them. And although he's been watching them for so long now, noticing small gestures and looks and smiles, and although he was so sure he knew just how much in love they were, it's only now that he truly understands. Because this isn't some sort of passion that will wear off with time, a understanding that will fade when they aren't together all of the time anymore; this is the kind of love every single love song is about, the one books are written about and poetry praises, it's the kind of love that will leave both of them tired in the mornings while they are filming in other parts of the country, because they have spent hours upon hours talking to each other, the one which will make them smile in quiet moments although they haven't seen each other in weeks, the one which will make them ache all over and relish every moment of pain, because it reminds them of the other.  
It's the kind of love that will still make Aidan smile in fifty years and Richard's eyes go soft and tender at the mention of his lover's name.

And now, it is shining out of Aidan's eyes and every motion of his hand, every breath and Dean closes his eyes so his heart won't burst and leans down to kiss Richard, hoping that maybe, he'll be able to tell him how lucky he is with the swipe of his tongue when he licks into the other's mouth, although Dean is sure that Richard knows.  
He's still aching when he feels Richard kissing back, parting his lips a bit more to grant him entrance, craning his neck in a way which has to hurt. Dean's hand comes up to touch, to soothe the tension in the other's shoulder and he moans when he feels the flex of muscles beneath his palms, the straining sinews and the trembling ever time Richard bucks back against the intruding fingers.  
Still kissing him, Dean slides his hand back into Richard's hair, scraping short nails across the other's scalp and feels the older man moan more than he hears it, and it's as addictive as the sounds were before. He does it again, and again, until Richard is almost pliant against him, only kissing back slightly, lazily, rocking between them as if he has forgotten about everything else in the world. And maybe, Dean thinks, maybe he has.

It's only when he has to that Dean pulls away, leaves Richard's thin, curved lips red and swollen and shining with saliva, both of them breathing heavily. But maybe, he thinks, maybe that is also why they asked him to come here, to join, because it's clear that they get lost in each other so easily and so completely that Aidan might forget to add another finger and Richard to ask for it.  
Because although they're both hard, both flushed and moaning ever so often (Aidan when Richard clenches his muscles around his fingers, Richard when the other's fingers brush across his prostate inside of him, or reach deeper than usually, touching spots which has never been touched before), it's not about release, Dean sees that ever so clearly when he looks at them, moving in synch as if that was what they were meant to be doing, as if they had been made for this, for each other.

And so Dean remembers it for them, leans over and reaches out, brushes a strand of damp, dark hair from Aidan's face and waits until the other has focussed his dazed eyes on him, until he's broken away enough from Richard that he can understand what it is Dean says.  
"Another", it's what he mutters, softly because anything else would be a crime and Aidan nods, reaches out to brush a hand over Richard's back as if to ask him for permission, to warn him, and Richard just gasps softly, pushes back against the three fingers already inside him.  
Only a second, then Aidan's eyes are back on him and Dean understands before the other can say a thing, stops his fingers which are still threading through Richard's hair and instead moves and shifts until he can grasp the bottle of lube, the faint scent of raspberries filling the air as soon as he pops the lid open.

He isn't looking at his hands, though, not even thinking about them, because his eyes are fixed on Aidan's fingers which are slowly, ever so slowly being pulled out of Richard, whose muscles are straining, trembling again, as if he has to stop himself from thrusting back against the intrusion again, from forcing his lover's fingers back into his body where they, undoubtedly, belong. His hole is twitching, as if it's trying to keep the fingers inside as well, gaping open when Aidan finally has pulled his fingers out and it takes a moment until Dean realises that the shaky intake of breath was Aidan's, not Richard's.

“You’re beautiful”, Aidan whispers brokenly, all the world’s sincerity and adoration wrapped into two words and Dean doesn’t even dare to move, let alone speak because Richard is shifting with uncertain movements, pushing himself up although his knees are almost buckling with his own weight until he can turn around, threading his hands into Aidan’s hair and just looking at him for a moment, eyes locking before one of them leans in and the other follows, swollen lips meeting in a kiss.  
It’s neither passionate nor tender, but something between both things and more intense than anything Dean has ever seen before. They’ve forgotten about him completely, and it is good that way, because like they needed those few moments for themselves before, they need this, a break for both of them, because it’s too much for them as well.  
Dean grants it gladly and looks away, because every muscle of his body hurts with longing and with joy for them. For the hundredth time since he first caught them kissing, he wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone’s love.

When he looks up again, they have parted lips but not hands, Aidan’s head resting on Richard’s shoulder, his face buried in the crook of the other’s neck and Richard’s eyes close as if he wants to concentrate on nothing but the other.  
And then, Richard speaks, so softly that Dean doesn’t think he was supposed to hear the words, but glad he did nonetheless.  
“I love you”, Richard says, and suddenly Dean understands why Aidan didn’t use the term before, because there is something so special to it, a promise and the fierceness, the intensity he hadn’t been able to bear in Aidan’s eyes before, gratefulness for having met and having fallen in love and for every moment they spent together, sadness because they won’t live and stay together forever, joy because even if so, they still have half of their lives to look forward to, forgiveness for every time Aidan hurt him and regret for every time he slighted the other, all of it put into the words. And when Aidan whispers the words back against the skin of Richard’s neck, Dean wonders if they, when they’re alone together, even have to speak, because it feels as if they have said everything there is to say already.

It lasts another moment, maybe two until they break apart completely, Richard lowering himself onto his hands and knees again, just as graceful and easily as before, but there is an invitation in his eyes, the permission for Aidan to continue. Aidan just watches, doesn't touch although Dean would have expected another kiss to the dimples just above the swell of Richard's arse, the hollow between his shoulder blades or the back of his neck; perhaps Richard can feel his gaze, though, because he spreads his legs a bit more than needed, makes it impossible for both Aidan and Dean to look anywhere but his stretched, swollen entrance.  
If Aidan feels the same stab of arousal shooting through him from head to toe, Dean doesn't know, but his gaze is unfocussed as he looks back at Dean, holding out his hand, still wet with lube, but not slick enough to make sure Richard will feel only the absolute minimum of pain that is necessary.

That, too, is an invitation, but for Dean, who takes it immediately, squeezing too much of the sweet-smelling liquid on Aidan's hand again and bringing a hand up to spread it on the other's fingers with slow movements. His own fingers are dripping with lube when he pulls his hand away and he leans in to kiss Aidan for a few, short seconds afterwards, because all of a sudden, it doesn't feel wrong to take the initiative anymore.  
Aidan kisses back, sucks on his tongue before pulling away, a smile on his lips.

Richard's back is still arched perfectly, and Dean watches one of Aidan's fingers circling his hole, teasing, fleeting touches, before he pushes two fingers inside of his lover without any sign of resistance, pulls them out to thrust three inside instead. Still, the moan Richard lets spill from his lips is filled with nothing but pleasure, and Aidan continues to fuck him like that for a moment or two before he pulls back. His eyes find Dean's and it's good that his palm is still slick, because before Aidan works four fingers into his lover, Dean reaches around Richard, wraps his own hand around the other's cock and listens to the almost desperate moan.

Richard is hard and leaking precome, the thick vein on the underside pulsing as Dean starts slowly stroking, distracting the other as much as possible from the feeling of being split open by Aidan's fingers. His hips are bucking into Dean's touch, jerky, sudden movements and Dean matches the rhythm of his strokes, increasing the pressure slightly when he sees that Aidan's fingers have stopped, buried up until the knuckles inside of Richard, rubbing the head between his fingers and drawing another moan from the other's lips.

He keeps his eyes on Aidan’s hand, but although it should look filthy, obscene, how Richard is stretched so impossibly wide around his fingers, it does everything but, not even when Aidan pulls his fingers out again. Dean moans at the sight alone, because it looks as if Richard’s body was trying to suck them back in, and so he reacts a second too late, only mirrors the other’s movement when Richard is already hissing because of the pain and burn the friction causes. When Dean does move, the hiss turns into half a moan, pleasure levelling out pain when Dean strokes down from the head of Richard’s cock to the base, following the thick vein with his thumb. A word follows, which could be both a name and a curse, and Dean would be able to relate to both things.

Aidan’s eyes never leave his hand, eyes following its every movement and for a few moments, Dean does the same, trying to match his strokes to the other’s thrusts, but in the end, it’s not enough. So he reaches out, uses two fingers to turn Aidan’s head around until their eyes lock and kisses him, slowly and lazily.  
They find a rhythm like that at last, tongues dancing between open mouths in the same pace as their hands move and with every stroke, every thrust, Dean can feel Richard falling apart more and more, his moans and gasps losing the sharp edge of pain to be replaced by something sweeter, more desperate.  
It’s still got to hurt, Dean thinks and tugs on Aidan’s lower lip with sharp teeth as if trying to give back some of the pain, only to soothe the sting with his tongue, like he hopes his fingers rubbing over the head of Richard’s cock are doing.

And then, there comes the moment where it’s not enough anymore, where Aidan needs to see (he can taste it in the other’s kiss, feel it in the way Aidan’s breathing quickens) and Dean lets him pull away easily, because he wants to see too; wants to know just what they have done to the older man.

The sight, when his eyes finally manage to focus takes more than just his breath away.  
Richard is a wreck, pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles beneath it quaking and trembling with the sheer effort it takes to hold him upright, his hips rolling back against Aidan’s thrusts and into the friction Dean’s hand brings; but even that is nothing against the sounds.  
He must have missed them before because of the kissing, because they are so quiet, hardly more than breaths, but needy, desperate and filled with lust, sounding as if Richard wasn’t even aware of making them.

Dean, too, is not aware of what he is doing when he starts moving again until he can reach out and grasp Richard’s chin, turning his head slowly until he can see the other’s face.  
If he didn’t know that Richard’s eyes are the brightest blue, he’d think them black, since everything has been swallowed up by his impossibly wide pupils, the flush on his cheeks, his swollen lips making up for the lack of colour. Dean keeps looking, keeps staring because he can’t do anything but it, knowing that he will keep this image in his mind for the rest of his life.  
Aidan must have seen his lover’s face, too, because there is a moan, breathless and low, echoing through the room and Richard replies with another sound, another not-quite moan.

He would give them another moment for themselves, to kiss or just see how much they have wrecked the other (because Aidan doesn't look any less a mess than Richard does, unfocussed eyes and lips kissed red), but he can't, not now, because it would mean moving away and as much as he thinks they might need it, Dean cannot bring himself to do that. So instead, he forces his eyes to settle on Richard's back, the flexing muscles there he has admired from afar, but which look so much more enticing as close as this still; concentrates more on the movement of his hand around Richard's cock, enough lube left to make the slide easy. He rubs a fingertip over the patch of skin between the base of the other's cock and his balls, and Richard moans, actually moans now, so Dean does it again before stroking upwards once more, switching the position of his hand for a moment so he can tease the slit before stroking back down, keeping the pressure steady and firm.  
Twisting his wrist a little, Dean draws another sound from the other, Richard's hips snapping forward with more force and Dean tightens his grip, presses down just below the head. It's hard not to think about wrapping his other hand around his own cock, stroking in synch, but somehow manageable - especially since Dean just knows he wouldn't last longer than a few seconds before coming so hard he'd pass out.

And it shouldn't be possible, but between the strokes of his hand, the sounds Richard makes, the movements of the other's hips, Dean misses the exact moment Aidan tucks his thumb under his fingers, works it in along the others and stretching his lover more than should be humanly possible. It's only when Richard gasps or groans or moans or some mixture of all three things that he does notice, eyes flying to Aidan's wrist, which has stilled his movements, then back to Richard's head hanging between his arms, breathing heavily to will away the pain.

His first thought is to move back so he can see, another picture he won’t ever forget, but he can see the pain in every of Richard’s movements, hear it in every breath, and suddenly it’s so much more important to soothe the other. Dean’s hand picks up its pace, caring less about fancy details than just making Richard forget about the stretch and burn of the five fingers inside of him with fast, steady strokes.  
Aidan isn’t moving at all, fixed in place as if he was too scared to break his lover with a single movement. Dean can’t blame him.  
He stays like this for another five, six strokes of Dean’s hand, until Richard slowly, tentatively tries to push back, hissing at the stretch. If it’s the sound or the sight which brings Aidan back to reality, Dean doesn’t know, but it only takes a moment until the other’s hand comes up to rest on Richard’s side, a replacement for the kiss Dean supposes he’d like to place on his lover’s lips.  
“Rich, are you… are you okay?”, Aidan asks after another moment, and his voice is hoarse and shaky, filled with so much worry and arousal and affection, Dean wants to lean in and kiss Aidan for it because Richard can’t.

It takes a moment until there is an answer and Dean can feel how the other’s anxiety is getting more and more powerful (he wouldn’t know how to forgive himself for hurting Richard, so he cannot imagine how Aidan has to feel), until the older man nods jerkily, takes a deep breath before replying.  
“Fine, ‘m fine, just a second…”  
His voice is trembling, just like Aidan’s was, but more breathless, more strained, even deeper than it usually is.  
There is no answer, just a nod on Aidan’s part, but Dean supposes it’s not needed anyway, since there is no way Aidan would go on, knowing Richard doesn’t want him to.

Aidan gives him all the time he needs and Dean tries to do the same, keeps stroking Richard’s cock with steadier movements now, and after a minute, maybe two, the other’s breathing starts to even out, no huge gulps of air which sound as if Richard was on the verge of drowning. He’s not pushing back against his lover’s fingers yet, so Dean gives him another few moments until he just can’t wait anymore, until he needs to see.  
It’s hard to move without completely losing the rhythm with which he is still stroking Richard's cock, but somehow he manages, only to forget about moving his hand at all when he's pressed next to Aidan again, his gaze fixed on the other's fingers.  
Richard's legs are spread even more now, as if he hadn't been able to take it all otherwise, and for a moment, Dean's thoughts stop at that because it's a wonder that the other can still hold himself upright like this, and it is almost impossible to comprehend how all of Aidan's fingers fit inside of Richard, up to the knuckles and still shining wetly with lube. He just stares for a few seconds, because it's unreal, Richard's hole stretched so wide that Dean can almost feel the burn of it himself.

When he raises his hand, it has to be by his body's own volition -every of his thoughts has flown right out of the trailer's window to be replaced by another image, another detail of this - fingers just hovering above Aidan's hand for a few moments before he reaches out, traces the rim of Richard's hole where it is stretched around his lover's fingers, feeling the subtle movements of Aidan's muscles within the other.  
The sound which falls from the older actor's mouth is something akin to a yell, only hoarser, more breathless, filled with both pain and pleasure, and it's only when there is a thump on the bed, when the curve of Richard's spine changes, that Dean realises the other man's arms have given out, only his elbows left to support his weight. He does it again, and Richard makes a noise in the back of his throat which might have been a curse, a plea and Dean can feel his hole twitch underneath his touch for a split second until Richard does the one thing Dean would never have expected - rolls his hips back against the intrusion.  
It only lasts a moment and hardly lets Aidan's hand slide deeper inside him than a few millimetres, but when there are sounds now, they come from all of them; a breathless, low groan from Richard, a shocked gasp from Dean and a surprised, desperate moan from Aidan.

“Fuck, Rich, can I-?”, Aidan asks, sounding as overwhelmed as Dean is feeling and looking like it too, with wide eyes and parted lips, waiting for permission, and it feels more important than it should, like more than just permission for this, even to Dean. For a moment, he doesn’t know why, until he realises just how much trust it has to take to allow someone to do this to you.  
  
Richard takes another two or three deep breaths before he gives his answer, not with words but with another movement back against Aidan’s fingers, forcing them just the slightest bit deeper inside him and the way Dean can feel the slide of skin beneath his fingertips leaves him dizzy. He can’t even imagine how Aidan has to feel, with his lover so tight and hot around his hand, taking more and more of it.

At first, Dean expects Aidan to start fucking Richard again, to make sure he is pliant beneath their hands before continuing, but he doesn’t, instead slides his hand up Richard’s side and back down to his hip, then bends down to press a kiss on the other’s back. It’s got to change the angle of his fingers, because Richard gasps, but Aidan is quick to apologise, mutters _sorry_ against his lover’s skin.  
“’t’s okay, love”, Richard replies and sounds like it, sounds like he’d forgive Aidan for everything he could ever do wrong and Dean is glad he can see neither of their faces, since he isn’t sure if he could take it.  
It seems to be hard for Aidan to break away, because he stays like this for another few seconds, pressed up against Richard’s back, before he straightens his back again, drawing another hiss from his lover’s lips. Dean thinks, he hears him apologising under his breath once more, but he can’t be sure, since it only takes another moment until all his thoughts are gone once again, disappearing with the next centimetre of Aidan’s hand that is pushed inside of Richard.

He’s going slow, impossibly slow, and so it takes what feels like ages until Dean feels how the older man’s entrance is stretching around Aidan’s knuckles (and oh, he can’t resist lightly rubbing over the rim to feel the bumps and grooves of them through Richard’s skin and flesh, moaning while Richard chokes on his breath). Somewhere along the way, Dean remembers his task and tightens his loose, loose hold around Richard’s cock again, starts a slow rhythm which makes the other moan under his breath.  
The sounds are half pain, half pleasure, but Dean supposes that it could be so much worse.

By the time the widest part of Aidan’s hand is inside Richard, all three of them are gasping with every intake of air, Richard’s moans muffled because he cannot even keep himself propped up on his elbows anymore.  
It might be cruel, but Dean’s fingers keep dancing across his entrance, across the back of Aidan’s hand and the inch or so where they are joined, committing every touch to memory, just like he does with every sound, every movement.

And then suddenly everything goes so much faster, as if their movements were time-lapsed, Richard’s body swallowing the rest of Aidan’s hand with only a minimum of resistance and Dean doesn’t even try to repress the moan when he realises that that is only possible because Richard is already so stretched that Aidan’s wrist has to feel like nothing at all.

For a moment, there are no sounds, just stunned silence, and when Dean looks up, he finds Aidan’s eyes dazed and glossed over, lips parted as if in the middle of speaking and all the awe in the world written across his features.  
“Richard”, he whispers, just that, and yet it's the most tender, most loving sound Dean has ever heard. His hand travels up his lover’s side again, and although he isn’t looking, Dean can feel when Aidan rearranges his fingers so that he can ball them up to a fist, can hear it because Richard is groaning, gasping, though there is less pain and more amazement hidden in the noises.

There is nothing for a minute, maybe ten – Dean has stopped counting so long ago – in which they just catch their breaths, until Richard shifts, a moan accompanying each and every movement that makes Aidan’s hand shift within him, softly commands, “Move.”  
If it was meant for both of them, Dean doesn’t know, but he complies as well as Aidan does, gives Richard’s cock one last stroke before letting his hand fall down to his side again, for as much as he would like to be the one to make Richard finally come, this has always been about them and still is.  
Aidan casts him a look and smiles, leans in and kisses him softly, tears his hand away from Richard’s side to grasp Dean’s still lube-slick one and wrap his fingers around his own wrist so Dean can feel it when he pulls his hand back an inch before slowly thrusting it back into his lover, waiting for Richard’s soft noise of approval before doing it again.

Dean’s fingers are still moving across Richard’s hole, rubbing slightly whenever Aidan pushes his hand inside, and the hitch of the other man’s breath at the friction is addictive, because it sounds like a sound Richard wouldn’t be able to hold back, even if he wanted to.  
It only takes a few, shallow thrusts until Richard starts rolling his hips back against the intrusion, only tentatively at first, but enough for the next thrust to be just the slight bit harder he obviously needed.  
Aidan’s knuckles must have scraped over his prostate, because Richard’s back arches until Dean is sure he can hear the bones creak in protest to their treatment, his hole clenches down around Aidan’s wrist, not trying to force him out anymore, but trying its best to keep his hand inside, a cry of his lover’s name spilling from his lips like a prayer, a plea.  
The other answers with a moan of his own, and does what he is asked to do without words, doesn’t pull his hand out anymore, just twists his wrists, rubs over that sweet spot inside of Richard once more.

It’s like a dam breaking, no barrier between Richard’s mouth and mind left, lips spilling curses as well as pleas, as praise, sometimes completely nonsensical, but always laced with Aidan’s name and mixed with declarations of love.  
There is nothing like it which Dean has ever seen or heard, nothing at all, because while he has had sex, great, wonderful, mind-blowing sex, there have always been some reservations left, a last line he never dared to cross, but not with Richard; not with Richard who trusts Aidan so much it is enough for Dean as well.

He’s been forgetting about his own arousal, his own pleasure a few times through the night, but it’s nothing against this, since suddenly, nothing matters but watching the other, listening to the sounds he makes and hoping to remember them; hoping that someday he’ll find someone who he can allow to break him down so completely as well.

It lasts only a little while, because Richard must have been on the edge for such a long time, only brought back by pain to have Dean’s fingers making sure he won’t forget about wanting altogether, and because obviously this has been worth all the pain. And so Dean only sees Aidan’s hand snaking around Richard’s body out of the corner of his eye (for there is no way he could look away from the way the other man’s muscles are straining, his hips rolling back against the intrusion, from how stretched his hole is around Aidan’s wrist) and a few moments later, Richard is completely falling apart underneath them, coming with a cry of Aidan’s name and desperate thrusts of his hips.

As his movements grow slower, less frenzied, Dean can see the tension leaving Richard’s muscles, relaxing until the other is left pliant and boneless on the mattress, as if all strings keeping him up have been cut and Aidan starts pulling his hand back before Richard can even gather his wits again. It’s the best way to do it, Dean is sure about that, but there is a certain hesitance in the other’s movement as both of them watch Richard’s body give way and his hole stretch around Aidan’s hand again, around his knuckles, five fingers, four, three, until Aidan finally lets his hand fall to his side, wiping it on the next tissue he can grasp; and Dean’s knees almost give out because even now, the older man’s hole is gaping open, swollen and red from the stretch. His fingers are still resting between Richard’s cheeks, so Dean brings them down until he can rub across the abused ring of muscle one last time before letting both his hands fall to his sides, watching as Aidan pulls his hand from beneath his lover’s body, smears of come all over the long, elegant fingers.  
Dean expects him to wipe them on the already ruined sheets, but instead Aidan brings them up to his mouth, wraps pink lips around them and sucks the seed off his skin; and while Dean has been good with ignoring his own, aching cock up until now, it gets more difficult now.

But first, Dean moves back, resists wrapping his hand around his cock to relieve at least some of the tension and just watches, because Aidan’s fingers drop from his parted lips only so he can use both hands to turn Richard around, ignoring how the other is mumbling something under his breath which sounds like protests and not stopping until their gazes lock.  
The flush is still turning Richard’s cheeks pink, but while his eyes have been wild with lust before, they are sated now, sated and tired and loving, his lips curling into an involuntary smile as he focusses on Aidan, reminding Dean that, while he has been watching both of them, the two of them have not seen each other almost the whole time.  
Aidan’s smile surely matches his lover’s, but Dean doesn’t have time to check, because the other is ducking down, using one arm to prop himself up as he kisses Richard, dark curls falling down the side of his face and shielding them from Dean’s prying eyes.  
He still watches, can’t help but to, because Aidan’s fingers are playing with the hair just above Richard’s ear, his lover’s hands come up to brush over his hipbones, every motion making it clear how at ease they are with each other, how they know just what it is that makes the other tick and laugh and moan. Dean just manages to catch himself before he can reach out and touch, feel.

If it’s Aidan’s own aching need for release which finally makes them break apart, or if he can sense Dean’s, he doesn’t know, but pull apart they do, both with shining eyes and smiles on their lips.  
“I’ll just take care of Dean and myself, okay, darlin’?”, Aidan says softly and Richard raises an eyebrow, obviously not willing to waste energy on words when he has to use all of it to keep his eyes open and all of a sudden, Dean feels his heart speed up again, nervous for seemingly no reason.  
Maybe Aidan sees it in his eyes - by now, Dean wouldn’t put it past him - since he does the only right thing, reaches out and pulls Dean closer again, kisses him for the umpteenth time this night, prying willing lips open with a clever tongue, and it takes a moment until Dean realises that he can still taste Richard’s come in the other’s mouth.  
The thought makes him moan right against Aidan’s lips, but only for the matter of moments, because then there are fingers around his cock, long, slender fingers stroking him from base to tip and all sounds die on Dean’s tongue before they can even make it past his lips.

It only lasts for a second, though, then Aidan shifts, inches closer until their cocks brush against each other, the hint of friction making both of them gasp into each other’s mouth; a promise of more to come which the other keeps, wraps his hand around both of them this time and draws a moan from Dean’s lips which even Richard must have heard, even though it never reached the air.  
The mere friction of someone’s hand shouldn’t feel so good, Dean knows that but can’t stop himself from rocking into Aidan’s fist, sparks of pleasure travelling up his spine and down to his toes until his whole body is tingling with it, his mind clouded with the need to come. There is no finesse in Aidan’s movements, no fancy details or teasing, but the occasional twist of the other’s wrist is enough to make Dean dizzy at this point, his lips finding Aidan’s once more to ground him.  
It doesn’t help, only makes him more aware of the fact that Aidan is moaning too, vibrations being passed from one’s lips to the other’s, not allowing the sounds to ever reach the air.

Dean, too, has been too long on the edge to last long, and so it only takes Aidan thrusting into his own fist alongside his cock, a particularly hard stroke and he is coming into the other’s fist and over his stomach, the pleasure making his toes curl and his eyes roll back in his skull for a moment, his knees buckling as he rides out his orgasm.  
Aidan follows only a few moments afterwards, creating even more of a mess between them and groaning some kind of half-curse into Dean’s mouth.

It takes them a second to catch their breaths, another few to break apart, and Dean catches himself thinking that Aidan has never looked this beautiful before, flushed face framed by wild, damp curls and dark eyes half-lidded. He is staring, he knows it, but it doesn’t matter, because although his body is still singing with post-orgasmic haze, his mind has just caught up with the fact that this is over now, and that, no matter how much it makes him ache, he will have to get up and get dressed, walk back to his trailer which is close but not close enough, smile at both Aidan and Richard tomorrow, but probably never speak of it again.  
And so he kisses Aidan once more before all of his senses have kicked in, cups his face as he licks into his mouth and nibbles on his lower lip before he pulls away, not able to keep the hint of sadness out of his eyes, even when the other looks back at him, confusion all over his pretty face.

He kisses Richard too, kisses him for every moan and every smile and every time the other’s blind devotion made his heart contract painfully in his chest, and Richard kisses back lazily, their tongues dancing between parted lips and shared breaths.  
When Dean pulls away, he is out of breath and dazed in the best possible way, the world only coming back into focus after a few precious moments.  
“Goodnight, then”, he says softly and doesn’t look at either of them, because Aidan still looks a bit lost and Richard exhausted and sated and like so much, that too would be too much to bear. So instead, he starts getting off the bed, but doesn’t even get far enough for his feet to touch the ground, before Aidan’s fingers close around his wrist, just like his did around the other’s earlier.

There is a smile on the other’s lips, Dean notices when he does look after all, a warm and gentle one, as Aidan falls back on the mattress and half on top of Richard, tugs until Dean tumbles down, too.  
He doesn’t understand right away, but Aidan makes sure he does in the end, with a kiss to his forehead and an arms tugging both Dean and Richard closer until there is not an inch of space left between them.  
“Goodnight”, Aidan says softly, and Dean watches his eyes flutter shut, lets his own gaze wander to see that Richard has already drifted off to sleep with his and Aidan’s fingers intertwined and resting on the other’s stomach and his heart swells. Maybe there is enough love between them to keep him safe as well. “We’ll get cleaned up tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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